


i told you so

by largoindminor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling, Frottage, Hand Job, M/M, Nightmares, Sleeping Together, Wincest - Freeform, h/c kinda, season 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 12:42:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3692736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/largoindminor/pseuds/largoindminor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sam tried to help dean with his nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i told you so

**Author's Note:**

> it's 3am but i just couldn't _not_ write it, yanno? so have some sleepy wincest. thanks for reading and sorry for any mistakes.

“No way, man.”

“Dean,” Sam frowns at him, “just hear me out. We've tried it your way, and look at you. You're a mess, you look like a zombie. When was the last time you slept for more than an hour?”

“Look I'm fine. I don't need twelve hours of sleep a night, I ain't a toddler. 'm fine, it's fine”

“Right. And your dreams?”

Dean spins to look at him, “Wha- I don't- you don't even know what you're talking about man. Just. Just drop it.”

Sam shrugs his shoulders in defeat, it's not worth the argument, he knows Dean isn't in the head space to agree and Sam thinks maybe he shouldn't have sprung it on him this late in the evening.

“Ok, ok. I will. Look, just, just think about it ok? Promise? Dean, this place? It's great, it really is, but we. I mean, we lived in the same room all our lives. I knew I could reach out and touch you anytime if I needed you. I think it's harder for both of us to sleep… apart.” He feels weird saying it, it's not something you say to your brother, is it? “And I just thought, maybe, it would help you through this a little.”

Deep breath in. Out. “I appreciate than, man, I do. It's just, it's embarrassing ok? And dangerous. I could, I dunno, punch you in the face or something before I even wake up and realize what I'm- or worse.”

Sam chuckles. “Right, and then I'd have to punch you right back,” rolls his eyes and feigns boredom at the thought, but it's the  _or worse_  that sticks in his mind.

“No way, you'd be  _out,_ brother.” It's a joke, forced, but they both smile, pretend it's just banter, like before. Like it used to be.

“Ok, well. Night.”

~

It starts at 2am. The screaming. Sam knows Dean's having a nightmare, that there's nothing really wrong, but he gets up to check anyway.

The floor's cold, he stands in the doorway, watches Dean grip the sheets and thrash in the bed, hears him whimper, then shout, smells the stale sweat of too many sleepless nights spent in this room. The floor's cold so he takes a step inside, pauses, watches to see if Dean wakes up. He doesn't. Another step inside, then, and another. Sam eyes the chair by the desk and thinks  _why not_ , lifts it and carries it to to space beside Dean's bed. Dean's hand, his right hand, is balled up, muscles tight and shaking from pain or effort. Sam reaches over, runs his fingers lightly over wrist and under palm and the fist relaxes. Only a little but enough for Sam to coax his fingers in between Dean's. Sam doesn't squeeze, just holds, and the muscles start to loosen. Dean's calmer now, the dream must be subsiding.

Sam falls asleep with his head flopped back, awkward in the too small chair, but he sleeps deeply anyway. Dean doesn't stir again for hours.

They don't talk about it in the morning. Sam wants to gloat, but doesn't dare.

~

The next night, Sam doesn't go to bed. He stays up late in the library, waits until Dean goes to bed. Waits thirty minutes. An hour. When he's sure Dean's asleep, he gets ready for bed, brushes his teeth, changes into soft sweats, and heads back to the room. The chair's still there, right by the side of the bed. Sam smiles, feels warmth bloom in his chest and spread up his neck. Maybe Dean was just too lazy to move it back, but…

He sits back in the chair, scoots it even closer to the bed this time, as he takes Dean's hand. Too early for the nightmares to have started, Dean's relaxed and deep in the middle of his sleep cycle. Sam squeezes his hand a little, rubs his thumbs over soft knuckles and wonders how someone as rough as Dean can have such smooth hands.

Sam falls forward this time, his hair tickling Dean's forearm as he sleeps. The nightmares don't come.

~

They still don't mention it

~

The following day Sam dozes off in the library. He doesn't mean to of course, reading something, nothing significant, really, but lost track of time and his own fatigue. It's 2:45 when the shout echos through the bunker and Sam jerks awake and rushes straight to Dean's room.

He barges right through the door, no longer hesitant about letting himself into Dean's room, but stops dead in his tracks when he eyes the chair next to the bed. It's. New? Not new, but different. Lush and cushy with padded arms and a high back, like the ones in the library. The hard wooden desk chair shoved back where it came from.

Sam walk over, stands by the bed for a long time, running his fingers over Dean's, who calms almost immediately. He glances at Dean's face, his short hair stuck messily to his forehead with beads of sweat, his eyes darting back and forth beneath the thin pink skin of his eye lids. Still dreaming, then. Sam reaches forward with his free hand and gently and so carefully, runs his fingers through those damp hairs, soothes the scalp underneath with gentle scratches.

Sam slumps forward again as he falls asleep, his head resting on Dean's shoulder, nose  _almost_  touching the hot skin of Dean's neck. When Sam wakes up he can't remember if he got that way by accident or design, and there's a terrible crick in his neck, but Dean's still sleeping soundly, so relaxed he's smiling almost, and it's the longest he's slept in months.

Dean finally mentions it when he wakes up, offers Sam a sheepish  _sorry_  when he sees Sam rub the spasming muscles in his neck.

~

The next few nights are the same. Sam waits for Dean to turn in, he's not staying up unreasonably late anymore, then lets himself into Dean's room an hour or so later. He falls asleep in various positions, always slumped forward and always with some part of his head touching some part of Dean. One morning he wakes up with his face against the back of Dean's hand, unsure if the kisses he placed on it were dream or real.

Dean's nightmares don't make an appearance.

~

Sam's tired. His throat is on fire and it's only 10 but he can't keep his eyes open. Dean notices Sam's huge yawn, that dissolves into a coughing fit, when he walks over to tell him goodnight. Dean hesitates, wavers in front of Sam for a few full seconds before speaking.

“You should, uh, head to bed, too. You ain't looking so hot.”

Sam knows that it's true, but it feels… weird. He sleeps in Dean's room, but they don't go in there  _together_. Will Dean let him to hold his hand when he's awake? Will Dean even let him in?

“Come on, up, let's go.” Dean orders, clearly not interested in waiting for Sam to make up his mind.

Sam walks behind Dean, excuses himself to go to the bathroom, brush his teeth, change. When he's done he hesitantly walks through the threshold into Dean's room, and spots Dean in the chair.

“You're, uh, sick. So. You should, you know.” Dean stammers, motioning towards the bed.

Sam opens his mouth to argue but gets caught by another bout of coughing. Dean raises an eyebrow at him as if to say  _see? s_ o Sam pulls back the covers and crawls into the bed. He's still and anxious and not sure what to expect. But once he lies down, Dean flips off the light and as he settles back into the chair, he reaches over to take Sam's hand in his and give it a little squeeze. Sam squeezes back before drifting off.  

Sam feels much better in the morning. Still no nightmares.

~

The next night Sam's tired again, not sick anymore but still pretty tired, so when Dean announces bedtime, Sam follows suit. Sam gets there first and reclaims the chair, but thinks to himself  _maybe we should just roll another bed in here._

Dean crawls into bed and lies down, but sits up again a minute later.

“Sam, you don't have to, with the chair I mean. I could… or we could…”

“Yeah, yeah I was thinking. We could just, you know, put another bed. Right here.”

“Yeah we-- yeah.” Dean trails off, kind of like that wasn't what he was saying at all.

Sam thinks he must be imagining that though, he falls asleep with his head by Dean's arm, but wakes up with that arm around his shoulders.

~

There's a case, nine days, a hunt in Nebraska. Motel rooms and hours on the road. They sleep in their separate beds and it's fine. Dean doesn't have nightmares except once. Sam's back feels much better, even on the cheap saggy mattresses.

~

Back at the bunker after taking down a nasty coven in Hastings, and Sam wonders if he should bring up the second bed again. Decides to, but Dean's already asleep, so tomorrow then.

Sam gets ready for bed, pads down the hallway to Dean's room. T _heir_  room, he thinks, and doesn't quite understand the combination of thrill and queasiness he feels when he does.

He pushes open the door and freezes, feels his stomach drop and he sucks in a quick surprised breath.  _Dean decided that he doesn't need this anymore, or that it's too weird,_  he thinks as he stares at the empty spot by the bed. He glances up to Dean, searches for any sign of distress and finds none. He does find, however, that Dean has switched to the other side of his bed, farther away from where the chair should have been.

Sam rubs his eyes, confused, a little hurt even, because man, moving the chair was enough, you didn't have to move yourself, too.

He hears a rustling, when he moves his hands from his eyes, he sees Dean, awake and propped slightly on one arm, the other arm reaching out.

“Come on,” and he motions towards the bed.

Sam doesn't move, his brain takes a minute to reboot before he parses Dean's meaning.

They sleep shoulder to shoulder, but Sam doesn't sleep well, he's fitful and restless and cautious of his movements.

~

Dean sleeps great.

They don't talk about it.

~

Sam stays up as late as possible the next night. He's tired, god is he tired, but he's nervous, too. 2 am approaches and he knows each passing minute increases the likelihood of a violent interruption in Dean's sleep, so he concedes and goes to their bedroom. He looks around the room, longs for the chair as he pulls back the covers and slips stiff and awkward underneath.

Twenty minutes, thirty, and he's still awake, fidgety, when he's startled by Dean's voice.

“Dude,” he sounds sleepy and exasperated, “you gotta loosen up.”

Dean nudges him with an elbow and rolls over to face him in the dark.

“It's just us, ya know? Relax,” he says, and then throws an arm over Sam's chest, pulling him close. Dean shifts, places his head closer to Sam's on the pillow, his mouth right by Sam's ear. “Relax,” he says again, softer, his nose brushing lightly along Sam's temple. And relax he does

~

They wake up kind of… tangled… together. They definitely don't talk about it.

~

They sleep like this for another week. Sam still thinks it feels awkward, but also really, really amazing.

~

On the eighth night, Sam jerks awake, startled by a dream he was having. Not a nightmare, not anywhere near, but still startling. He gets over the dream just in time to be startled by something else, the extreme proximity of Dean's sleeping face to his.

 _Look at his lips_  he thinks.  _God, no. No stop_  he thinks.  _They look so soft though. I bet they're so soft. Just like I dreamed._

And it's been so long, so long since he's kissed  _anyone._ His lips feel like they're burning, aching for some kind of contact. For this contact. He gives in.

_Fuck._

Dean stirs and Sam panics, his heart stops dead in his chest and he freezes, prays, holds his breath. But then he's kissing Dean again. No, wait, Dean's kissing  _him_. Dean's lips are unbearably soft, just like he thought, and they're moving expertly against his own. Dean's tongue,  _oh god_ , licks softly at the crease between Sam's lips and he opens them up, and Dean's kissing him, it's wet and deep and perfect and Sam's so stunned he can't even kiss back.

“Sam,” Dean hisses, breaking the contact. Sam knows he should look in his eyes but all he wants to do is stare at those spit slick lips in awe. “Sam?” Dean speaks again, “I, shit. I didn't, I mean if you--”

Dean's nearly incoherent and Sam knows if he tried to speak he'd be even worse, so he just kisses him instead. It's as good an answer as any, he supposes.

It goes on for  _ages._ Sam has his wits about him enough to actively participate now, he licks his way into Dean's mouth and tastes, circles Dean's tongue with his own, sucks on it lightly and Dean whimpers into his mouth. Dean pushes back, returns each move in kind and Sam's floating, he's flying, intoxicated by the unfamiliar burn of stubble against his chin and the impossible soft heat of Dean's mouth.

That's all it is that night, just kissing, no talking, nothing more. Eventually it dies down, deeper kisses giving way to light playful nips and pecks and nuzzles before sleep takes them again.

~

Another hunt. This one's in Ohio. Four days sleeping in a crappy motel and getting banged up by werewolves. They don't talk about it.

~

They're back home early on a Sunday and Dean cooks breakfast. It's a lazy day, a day for recovery and naps in front of the television. Sam sits down to watch something on the history channel, he blinks and wakes up two hours later, his head in Dean's lap, Dean's fingers carding through his hair.

“You fell asleep.”

“Huh. So I did. Uh, sorry,” Sam sits up, stretches his long arms over his head.

“Don't be. I was thinking, it's… well, probably should be getting to bed early anyways, not like we got any sleep on the road.”

Sam stands and smiles, holds his hand out to help Dean up. “Good idea.”

~

Sam really did intend to sleep. He did. But he lies in bed next to Dean, and feels his warmth, smells him up close like he hasn't in days, and well. They're kissing again. It's different this time. Deeper, more frantic. Maybe it's because of the four days away. Maybe they're just horny as hell.

Hands are everywhere. Dean's all over Sam, Sam's all over Dean. Nothing's tentative and Sam finds himself surprised by that, and grateful for it. Dean's hand snake their way up under his shirt, rubbing circles over his chest and up and down his sides. Sam reaches down Dean's lower back, lower and grabs a handful of his plush ass, groans as he pulls Dean against him and feels his arousal.

“Sammy,” Dean let's lose, low and guttural and his erection presses against Sam's hip.

“Yeah. Yeah, Dean,” Sam answered. Because  _yeah._

They shed their clothes, never breaking contact for longer than it takes to pull a shirt over the other's head. Dean gets his hand around Sam's cock first and strokes the substantial length of it.

“Jesus, Sam,” it's said with a chuckle cut off by a groan when Sam gets his hands on him.

They pull each other close, sweat slick skin sliding against skin. Sam can feel the head of Dean's cock as it bumps against his own, sensitive and leaking, and it feels perfect. So hot and so hard and so so sweet, that drag of  _just enough_  friction, and he knows this won't last long.  

Sam reaches between them, his long fingers wrapping around Dean's cock, and then his own, both of them together and his hips stutter at the absolute bliss of feeling them both against his palm.

Dean's head is against his shoulder, and they both look down, watch their cocks disappear and reappear as Sam's hand pumps up and down.

“Fuck, Sammy. Fuck.” It's all Dean can say.

Sam feels Dean go stiff, then shudder out a long breath as his body shakes and contracts with orgasm. Dean's come fills Sam's fist as he slides it up and down his own cock, so very hot and slick, once, twice, and he's coming too, muscles contracting almost painfully as he moans out Dean's name.

When he recovers, Sam grabs whatever article of clothing is closest to wipe the mess away, then pulls Dean into his arms, kisses his forehead, his nose, his lips.

“There's something I've wanted to say to you for a while now,” he whispers to Dean.

“Uh, ok?”

And Sam laughs inwardly because he knows Dean's afraid he's about to make some grand declaration that neither of them are quite ready to deal with.

“I told you so.”

It takes Dean a second or two to understand the meaning, but he does.

“Yeah. Yeah you did.”

Sam's about to drift off to sleep when he hears, “Sammy?”

“Hm?”

“Thanks.”


End file.
